no strings, no there aren't any strings on me-
by wearethewitches
Summary: natasha romanoff/fem!harry potter. In a world where Cassandra Potter got ahold of a time-turner, and met Natasha Romanoff one very fate-changing night, the rebellion against Dolores Umbridge is about to get even more interesting. (or aka, here's my rebooted lesbian magic baby fic)
1. Chapter 1

_**a/n: this is the reboot of my lesbian Natasha Romanoff/femHarry Potter cliche teen pregnancy fic. just warning you.**_

* * *

The club is lively. Music pounds in the background, and the wall above the bar is lit up with a rainbow spectrum of lights for Pride. Cass loves it, and loves that she knows this club – loves that she knows it like the back of her hand.

She knows that Sean the Bartender's limp is from his prosthetic, and that the crack two thirds of the way down the glass behind the bar he tends is from an angry patron that tried and failed to throw a bottle at his head, serving as a reminder rather than being fixed, that the club didn't tolerate thugs. It's highlighted in thick, neon yellow sharpie with comic exaggerations and taunts, drawn on by the club's secondary DJ, Altasia. Cass knows Altasia well, both mind and body.

Cass has been coming to this club for years, fake ID doing wonders, though in all technicalities, the ID it presents isn't fake. She might be Cassandra Potter, age fifteen, born July thirty-first, two thousand, but she's also Cassandra Black, age nineteen. Time turners, and all that malarkey – if Granger had used it as much as Cass did, then maybe the know-it-all might have been less stressed, but then also maybe, it all would have been a bit too obvious then. Cass is fortunate enough to have the kind of face that you can't guess a right age from. She's been called as old as thirty-one, on two separate occasions when the topic was brought up, fourteen at the youngest. Hermione Granger might not have had as much luck – especially considering that even with minimal use of the time-travelling device, she _shot_ up.

The club – officially called _Vibrant_ , unofficially called _V's_ for it's owner, Vick Rosan – has been Cass' go-to. Sirius enjoys seeing her having fun, and doesn't begrudge her a single penny she spends, doing whatever in Hades she wants, unlike certain others in her life. Being the Girl-Who-Lived had its ups and downs, and that was a down, what with the reaction of those certain others being to get their precious Order to tail her. Very badly, she might add.

Luckily, they weren't allowed inside V's, at her behest. The bouncers know not to let anyone in the thick folder she, Sirius, Remus and Tonks compiled together get into the club. In any case, the Order members didn't have the right currency, most days, so getting in after her was impossible without doing anything illegal or getting caught on camera doing magic.

Dancing, Cass spots a group of people across the club, all heading towards a reserved booth until a few split off – within those, a redhead, who is gorgeous as sin in her dark green dress, long legs causing a minor meltdown in Cass' mind. Meeting her eyes, Cass continues to dance with the two _lovely_ ladies on either side of her body, keeping contact as the redhead raises an eyebrow, lip quirking. Cass throws her a smirk, bringing up a hand to crook a finger – and it obviously surprises her, but then two infamous arseholes whose bans only _just_ timed out approached her, starting up a conversation that had the redhead's playful expression disappearing.

Immediately, Cass made an ugly face, slipping out from between the woman and coming to the redhead's defence, tidily avoiding being drawn into more groups as she edges off the dancefloor, and- _holy fuck_ , she thinks, eyes going wide as the redhead easily twists Infamous Arsehole #1's wrist, bringing him to his knees. _Can she do that to me?_

"-learn some manners, and get out." Cass hears as she comes over, quickly followed by half a dozen bouncers.

"Are you alright, miss?" One asks the redhead as they grab both of the men. His eyes flicker to Cass. "Lady C, Mr Vick's out on business."

Cass purses her lips, wondering why her friend decided _she_ was his proxy on nights like these. "How many hours has it been since your bans lifted, boys?" She faces them, hand resting on her bare hip, between a cut-out of her dress. She'd forgone her silver dress that usually marked her apart from the other patron's, putting her in the same category as Mr I-like-to-wear-a-white-suit Vick, but they still recognised her even without it.

"Lady C! We weren't doing anything, promise!" One tries to get out of it. Cass rolls her eyes.

"Well, apparently you aren't telling the truth. V's is a _nice_ place, with a _good_ reputation. We don't like liars here." Cass turns to the redhead, feeling bolder than usual as she brings a hand up, running a finger down her cheek. "I apologise for anything they said, and for their lies." The back of her hand burns suddenly at the word, and she brings her down, making a fist as she looks away from the redhead, not wanting to think about the Umbitch that she still had to spend another five and a half months with after winter break ended.

"Get them out of here," she tells the bouncers, watching as they were taken away.

"You have a lot of power here," the woman speaks to her, sounding intrigued. "You look young."

"I am, in comparison to some here," Cass looks her up and down, supressing the urge to lick her lips. "But Vick and I get along. We're good friends. You might have heard that he's away tonight…" duo, simultaneous cracks catches her attention, and her head snaps up at the familiar sound of breaking cartilage, eyes lighting up as she sees Vick and two bloodied Infamous Arseholes, bouncers looking pleased. "They must have been mistaken, thank Zeus. I thought I was going to have to stay until happy hour was over, acting hostess."

"Isn't that a good thing, staying later?"

Cass glances back at the redhead, pushing her fringe away from her eyes as she grinned. "Yes. But I had plans on getting some, tonight."

"Really?" The redhead makes an amused face, playful edge returning finally. "With who?"

 _Sean must have given me a stronger drink than usual, because I am being brave tonight_ , Cass thinks as she glides closer to the woman – almost too close.

"I had an idea. But you just arrived, and it would be a shame if you left without having experienced V's to it's fullest. You and your friends chose an action-packed night to come. Our DJ is out, so our secondary's taking the stage – and she is _very_ in tune to my moods."

The redhead says something, but the sudden blast of music causes Cass to miss it – she didn't think it was aimed at her anyway, from the way the woman's eyes dipped down, and if it was, nothing she said would have been new.

Looking over to a nearby House employee, she motions them over, reaching to drag a hand down their arm. "My friend and her companions drink free, until they reach V's limit."

"Yes, Lady C." They duck away, before Cass returns her attention to the redhead, who motions to the mass of people in the centre of the club.

"Natasha. Natasha Romanoff. Dance with me?"

Cass' eyes gleam as she takes her hand, tugging her towards them. "Cassandra. Odd choice of last name – and it would be my pleasure."

* * *

"It's always the legs that seal the deal," the witch muttered as she pressed hot kisses to bare flesh, reaching up to itch under her dress, when a hand stopped her. Cass immediately looked up, smouldering eyes lessening in their intensity as she waited for Natasha to speak.

The redhead took a second, catching her breath. "I just wanted to check – you _are_ actually overage, right?"

"I'm nineteen, and is that all?" Cass questioned, smirking and leaning up, the distance between their faces lessening as Cass pushed up under her dress, happily surprised at the lack of anything, before Natasha raised a hand, holding up a set of lace panties. "Oh, you _bad_ girl," she breathed, before pressing her lips to Natasha's, fingers sliding across skin before she blindly found the nub, Natasha's shoulders jerking, other hand slipping along the hard length of her thigh, holding onto her knee.

"It's always the legs…"


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm keeping these," Cass revealed as Natasha dressed methodically, limbs fluid yet robotic in their motions. The redhead paused, glancing over at the black lace string Cass was dangling. "I'm a collector, of sorts."

"How many pairs have you 'collected'?" Natasha asked, going back to her zipper, which just wasn't zipping back up. Cass set the panties down, reaching over and pressing two fingers against her back in warning before shuffling over, helping her out.

"I've had the opportunity to collect sixty-three pairs, if that's what you're really asking – but I'm picky. I liked last night very much, and would gladly have you in my bed for the rest of the year," she pulled the zipper up slowly, kissing her shoulder briefly before rolling back into her previous, comfy position. "In my little collection, I have six, now seven, pairs." Briefly, the importance of that number flew through her mind, before she forced it away. _They were all muggles, anyway – all perfectly normal human beings_. Her eyes strayed to a calendar hanging on Vick's wall.

She didn't hear whatever Natasha said in reply, as she stared.

"Cassandra?"

Cass got up out of bed, going over to it and splaying her hand beneath the date. "Holy shit, I'm fucked. I missed it – I missed the fucking celebration." She rushed to get her own clothes on, tripping at one point in her haste to get her other shoe.

"What's the matter?" Natasha questioned, watching on with a frown. Cass waved her off.

"I'm a witch, and my society celebrates the Winter Solstice – or at least we _did_ , but it's fallen out of fashion, recently. My dad celebrates it though, and he invited me, and I've been to the last couple of other solstice and equinox celebrations, and I missed the one that went on last night." She finished pulling on her shoe, going to leave immediately after checking her wand was still in her purse, when she remembered, going back over to the bed and grabbing Natasha's panties, stuffing them inside the bag.

"Sorry," she went to the door, unlocking it and ushering Natasha out, relocking it and hanging the key in the box, not bothering to flip the number dials to lock said box. "He's going to be so upset I missed it. I _promised_ to take part, and I never break promises." She became angry at herself as her eyes stung, leading Natasha down out of Vick's apartment, and then the club, throwing her a random jacket of hers from a hook. "Here. It's freezing out."

Natasha put it on, before taking her phone out of her purse. "Thank-you. I'm fine from here."

"Good, thanks, awesome," Cass came forwards, kissing her goodbye, feeling her magic warm in her belly at the motion, for some reason. "If I ever see you again, don't hesitate to come sleep with me. You're amazing. Bye." Twisting, Cass half-ran half-walked towards the corner, around which she knew was an alcove she could use to apparate to number twelve.

She really hoped Sirius wouldn't be too upset.

* * *

"First of all, I'm sorry I missed the celebrations- holy Hades and Persephone!" Cass stumbles backwards, spinning and bringing her hands up to her make-up strewn face. "Get some clothes on! Now!"

Sirius grunts, before standing from the packed couch, moving to get dressed, "Sorry pup."

"Sorry? That's all you have to say? I'm going to be traumatised, scarred for _life-_ "

Tonks snorts from her place on the opposite side of the bed, Remus between them still asleep, out cold. "You'll be fine."

"I had _no intention whatsoever_ to see my dad's dick, alright?" Cass shakes her head, "I'll assume you guys missed it too, and go upstairs-"

"We didn't miss it." Sirius comes over, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "We celebrated until dawn, having sex with Remus – and not each other, because that's incest, though we are very aware, as you have repeatedly told us, that we're toeing the line – and making sure our candles didn't go out. Kreacher and Dobby blew them all out when the sun came up, and then basically carried us inside. Tonks and I are basically in a post-sex glow, adrenaline running through our system, and this nocturnal beast of a man-" he motions backwards to Remus "-dropped as soon as the moon disappeared, despite this being a Sun Sabbath. Werewolves for you."

Cass shakes her head fervently, shuddering, "Well I hope that you had a nice Yule. What did you wish for, might I ask, before I go scrub my mind with bleach?"

"A new addition to the family."

Surprise is what jolts Cass from her self-imposed horror. She looks up at him, blinking.

"Really? You want Tonks to get pregnant?"

Sirius snorts, matching said woman, who is a little slow as she begins to fall asleep. "No. Not yet. That would be horrifying, right now, especially with this Voldemort business-" the reminder would be a slap in the face, if not for Cass' reticence to take responsibility in the war, "-so nah, we just asked for some allies, and hoped that we'll make it through this."

Cass nods, understanding, before slipping out of her godfather's hold. "Sleep." She orders, before leaving, shutting the door behind her and moving towards the kitchen, only to be stopped by Dobby, who appears out of nowhere, breakfast tray in hand.

"Missy Cassy will eats in her room, while she is getting dressed for the day, so that Missy Cassy won't be's taken off-guard by the Orders of the Phoenix's."

Cass glances down the corridor, where only now she hears the muffled sounds of talk. "There's a meeting going on? But Yule only just passed – people should still be celebrating." Her mouth twists into a learned expression, comparable with her Aunt Petunia's, before she nods and turns back, going to the end of the hall again and going upstairs to her room, Dobby dutifully trailing along behind her.

Once up, Cass goes to her room, but as she is taking the key from the edges of her dress, a door opens.

"And where have you been?"

Cass doesn't look back at her. "None of your business, Granger. My da's house, my da's rules. And my da's rules state – for _me_ – that I can do whatever the fuck I want." She unlocks her door and goes inside, ignoring whatever bullshit that the bratty witch was going to spout. _She needs to grow up_ , Cass thinks as she holds the door open for Dobby, before shutting it, stripping without care as the elf squeaks and sets her breakfast down and _pops_ out. A small grin appears. It was so much fun to tease him – Kreacher isn't as embarrassed about it all, having seen the rise and fall of three generations of Black's, each both clothed and bare as could be.

She eats her toast as she gets ready and chooses what to wear today, foregoing a morning run as her clock chimes eleven. Eventually, she chooses simple muggle clothes that Kreacher would bemoan as Tonks asked her where Cass got them. She tugs on new underwear, socks and a black tank-top, drinks her tea one-handed, pulls her jeans up and buttons them, before finally debating out loud over whether to wear her Ravenclaw beaters jersey and a grey scarf, or to go the full mile and switch her tank-top for her striped blue and bronze long-sleeved, and tie her jersey around her waist.

"Mmm…ip-dip, sky-blue, I'm a pansexual, and today, I will choose…you." She grins as she crooks her finger like she did the night before, her words, infused with the magic that flowed through her veins causing the scarf and jersey to float over calmly. Taking the items, Cass puts them on as she saunters over to the end of her bed, slipping into a warm pair of black dragon-hide boots.

In that moment, Dobby reappears, "Missy Cassy, Professors Dumbly-dore is askings for yous."

Cass rolls her eyes, "I have nothing better to do – tell him I'll be down in a minute." Dumbledore is a pain in her neck, as far as Cass is concerned – who cares that she's the bloody Girl-Who-Lived? Or that she killed a basilisk, or defeated Voldemort on a yearly basis? She still witnessed his return – she still got Cedric killed. If anything, they should leave her the fuck alone.

But she still goes downstairs, silent as Hermione and the Weasley's – there's an entire clan of them, apparently, and not just three annoying girls and one star-struck boy, and their annoying, overbearing mother. Cass supposes Mr Weasley is nice enough, adorable even. She saved him from dying from Nagini's bite, and he's thankful, but even before then, she'd liked him.

Once inside the kitchen, it takes all of Cass' skill in keeping a blank face as Dumbledore smiles sadly at her. "Hello, Cassandra – I see you slipped your tail last night. A very risky move, one that you keep repeating. I may be forced to take drastic measures to ensure your safety if you keep undermining your guards."

"Respectively, sir, no way are they getting inside my club," Cass replies, voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "And do not implement your 'drastic measures', or anything more than what you already do, because then I'll have to get the Aurors involved."

"We are Aurors," Kingsley frowns, and Cass raises an eyebrow at him, sitting down opposite Dumbledore, where he sits at the head of the table. _That's Sirius' seat._

"You're Aurors working for a vigilante group that, according to the Ministry, is not allowed to exist, and has no purpose for existing."

"Cassandra, please, see reason-"

"You are overstaying your welcome in our home," Cass cuts Dumbledore off. "Sirius has been sending letter after letter, complaining of your deplorable attempts to take over his home and only sanctuary at this present time. Say, Kingsley," she turns her attention back to him again, "What in the Auror Office are you doing about him again? He's a wanted convict, right? Sending Aurors off, chasing fantasy leads that don't give them anything at all to work with, wasting resources and men…"

Many shift in their seats at her blunt words, and Cass looks to Dumbledore. "Anything else you want?"

Dumbledore's smile is strained. "I would like you to begin Occlumency lessons again-"

"Nope. No fucking way. Snape can go burn in Hades- no, Tartarus. He can go _rot_ there."

"…with me."

Cass just laughs, before standing and leaving the room, an echoing shout of " _Fuck off!"_ echoing through the house.


	3. Chapter 3

She goes back to V's the next night, and the next, and the next, though Cass unfortunately doesn't run into the redhead again. It seems that she and her friends skipped town. Sean is apparently a bit disappointed, seeing as one of them was apparently a good mixer themselves, some Stank man or something-

"Cass! C'mon – if we don't leave now, the Order'll give you a detail!" Sirius calls up the stairs.

Unfortunately though, she had to return to Hogwarts, and her trips to V's would be limited. Cass wasn't so happy about that, seeing as she'd gotten used to her winter break schedule. Vick had already said his goodbyes the night before, as had the usual crew. They were somewhat aware that she was in boarding school, but it was a non-sequitur to them, considering her apparent age.

"Coming, Da!" Cass shouts back, briefly opening the door to make sure the sound travelled through the empty house, before going back to her belongings, packing the last of the few possessions she'd brought from Hogwarts for the holidays, and the presents she'd received from friends for Christmas, despite how she didn't celebrate. Standing, Cass zips the bag shut, shouldering it before twirling her wand between her fingers, sticking it through her loose bun with a whispered, " _Stay."_

Sirius is pacing in the landing when she comes down, tugging on her Ravenclaw pullover, Remus waiting calmly, leant against the wall. "Finally!"

"Dad, calm it," Cass hugs her father tightly, for a long few seconds, before holding out her hand to Remus, who takes it gently, before guiding her closer. "I'll drop in some time, okay? Don't worry about me – I have my mirror secured."

Sirius nods, before kissing her cheek, short beard scratching against her cheek. "Love you, fawn."

Cass smiles at him, before glancing at Remus, who turns on his heel, apparating them to the bustling Kings Cross, where they are immediately hounded by reporters as they make their way to the train.

"Lady Potter, what is your opinion on Dumbledore's sanity?"

"Would you consider yourself single, Cassandra?"

"Will the Potter Family continue investing in _The Channel_ magazine after the rise of their unpopular reports on muggle behaviour?"

"Has the Dark Lord really returned?"

"Show us some House Pride there, Lady Potter!"

Remus holds her under his arm almost as Cass keeps her expression neutral, raising his voice, "Lady Potter will not be answering any questions! Please get out of the way!" A nearby squadron of Aurors come over, after a few more seconds, restoring some order to the ravaging pack of press, before they reach the train.

"Let them ask their questions now," Cass mutters to Remus, pressing a firm kiss to his cheek before letting go, stepping up into the compartment, turning to wave at him as he apparates away. Immediately the press crowd around her compartment as she sets her bag down on a seat.

"One at a time!" She calls out, voice ringing across the bustling paparazzi. " _Witch_ _Weekly_ , three questions, go!"

The reporter steps forward out of the pack, photographer snapping pictures as Cass reaches one arm up the compartment door casually, eyes looking straight at the camera lens.

"Lady Potter, are you single? What's your opinion on the recent change in Madam Malkin's hemlines? Have you any future plans to accept marriage contracts?"

"I prefer the company of friends to that of partners," Cass glances at their robes, arm lowering, "And obviously _Witch Weekly_ has made their decision on the new hemline if their reporters are wearing it. As for the last question – why are you even asking me? I've made my position on them very clear. Marriage in the Wizarding World is sacred, a single occurrence unless you're unexpectedly widowed. I won't blindly accept a contract binding me to another magical being, or _any_ other magical contract."

A reporter from what Cass recognises as _Global Magigraphic_ shouts, "Is that decision influenced by last year's unexpected turnout in the Triwizard Tournament?"

Cass pinpoints them. She doesn't glare, but her eyes are certainly angry. "Does _Global Magigraphic_ have a question?" The cameras flash at an almost dizzying speed.

The reporter has nerves of steel though. They repeat the question, with more context, and the other reporters wait with bated breath for her answer.

"…It was reinforced by what happened last year. Due to my involvement in the competition- no, _because_ I was entered into the Triwizard Tournament, my fellow champions were cursed, sabotaged, and even _killed_. If no magical contract had bound me, the Late Lord's Heir, Cedric of the High Common House Diggory, would not have been murdered. I have many, _many_ more reasons to despise magical bonds, written or otherwise, that are not and will never be known to the public, and the fact that in such the modern society we have today, we still consider _marriage contracts?_ I find them abhorrent, and see them as a way to bind a magical being's will – and most, statistically, without their permission, due to their positions as minors."

Cass breathes in and out, reaching to shut the blinds on either side of the compartment doors. "No more questions." She pulls the blind on the door window down before shutting it, glancing behind her to the empty seats.

She glances at her watch.

 _07:45_

"Dedicated little shits," Cass mutters in reference to the reporters, before sitting down, kicking off her shoes, bringing her feet up. "Padma and her sister arrive at eight, Morag comes at nine, Su will get in at ten…"

If there's one thing Cass missed, it's her friends.

* * *

Morag McDougal had been a quiet but confident blonde eleven year old with a Norwegian accent in first year. Cass – or Andrea, as she had been known back then, for the Dursley's had an absolutely _horrid_ dislike of her real name – had been just as small Girl-Saviour whose speciality was sassing her cousin so well he didn't know he was being sassed. They met on the train, and since first year, were all but inseparable. Over time, both girls had spiralled upwards, character flowing from their pores. Andrea had become Cass, with sharp eyes that saw through every wall – a silver-tongued snake with wings to help her fly and feathers to hide her true nature.

Morag had grown taller, louder. She braided her long blonde hair from the scalp, tying in bright strings of colour to the waving strands, _pride_ shown to all; she twisted silver dinner-knives in her fingers as she leant forwards on her elbows, eyes glittering as Cass told her latest tale; she stood beside her sister in all but blood when her opponents faced her down, and rallied the masses to her defence when everyone seemed to decide to go against her.

If Cass had ever tolerated people calling her friends her 'inner circle', then she would have agreed with anyone who ever said that Morag was her partner in crime, her right hand, or even her soulmate. Because Morag was the light to her dark, the port to her drifting boat. She kept her grounded, and – other than her father, or Remus, or Tonks – was the only one able to calm her down when she grew angry.

So Cass wouldn't know what to do if Morag left.

But Cass _would_ know what to do if Umbridge _ever_ harmed her again.

Gently lowering Morag's bloodied hand into the murtlap essence, Cass utters prayers to the Gods. Morag whimpers, and Cass lets out an immediate snarl before taking her hands out of the bowl and standing, quieting the already-tense common room. Cass glares at everyone, without remorse.

" _What?_ " She looks away though, walking away quickly, going up to her dorm room, into the bathroom, locking the door. For a moment, she stands quite still – and then she kneels calmly by the toilet and throws up what little food there was in her stomach, the sharp stench of murtlap stinging her nose and throat, worsening as her soaked hands catch in a slight breeze.

"Cass?" Padma knock on the door. "I can hear you retching from my bed. What's happening?"

"I'm sick," Cass mutters, aware of the echo that makes it loud enough to hear. She waits a little longer before standing again slowly, shutting the toilet and flushing, going to the sink and washing both her hands and mouth, borrowing Lisa's _Listerine_ for the latter _._ "Spell the door open, it's fine."

Padma does, entering and immediately casting an air-refreshing charm. With the smell gone, she feels better, but Cass can still feel the nausea.

"Flu?"

"No – I had my potion," Cass disagrees, washing her hands again before taking out her comb from her hair, placing it carefully in its designated box at her sink. "If it happens again more than once, I'll go to Madam Pomfrey. The murtlap essence was burning my nose."

"It's not that bad," Padma argues, coming to stand beside her as she cleans herself up for bed tonight. Both know Morag will be fine downstairs – it's what she does, it's what she's always done. Neither of them know what she actually does down there, but she's always in bed by morning, and that's fine. "It's not naturally acidic. Maybe something else triggered it."

"Or maybe I've become allergic to murtlap over the holidays."

Padma winces, for good reason. Murtlap is being secreted all over Hogwarts by the bucket-load for all of Umbridge's victims, all because it heals. Those that have known allergies have to live with numbing charms and a lengthier time with it bandaged. As Cass is one of Umbridge's favourites to pick on, a sudden allergy to murtlap is concerning for her future health, to say the least.

"I'm going to incite a boycott for Defence tomorrow at breakfast," Cass finally reveals her plans, after brushing through her hair and removing her makeup. Padma purses her lips.

"People are going to refuse. You'll get detention."

"I know."

"Cass-"

"Padma," Cass turns to her friend, "I'm the Girl-Who-Lived. I'm the winner of the Triwizard Tournament, and slayer of the basilisk. I've received too many Best _whatever_ awards from _Witch_ _Weekly_ to count, and I'm a very public figure, as well as Ravenclaw's most reputable representation in the news currently. Just last week Professor Flitwick told me that Ravenclaw House had received an anonymous donation, through _Hogwarts Alumni Monthly_ so they can update the library downstairs." Cass shook her head, looking back at herself in the mirror.

"If _I_ can't get at least half of Hogwarts to boycott Defence Against the Dark Arts tomorrow morning, then no-one can."


	4. Chapter 4

Blood drips onto the floor. Her hand is numb, but it won't be for very much longer – it already itches, a sign that the charm is fading. Soon, it'd be an all-out horror show. Cass ignores it though, mind set as she walks away from the Great Hall, red droplets being joined by others as all her fellow Ravenclaw's walk behind her. Younger years had older years to help them with their numbing charms, so they didn't feel any pain, but Cass could see it in her minds eyes – dozens of crying first years, some screaming, some yelling in angry upset. The older years might be more calm.

Cass wouldn't be calm.

Cass would trash her dorm – she'd grab at hangings and pull them off their rails, overturns mattresses and throw all of the Umbitch's stupid textbooks out the window to the courtyard below, if she didn't set them on fire first.

She glances left, to where Mandy's already crying, not from pain but from fear of pain yet to come. Rebellion – it didn't suit her, it would break her if she wasn't careful, and Mandy was terribly clumsy. _She can't fight anymore_. Cass knows this deep in her chest, where it aches harder than her birth parents deaths, and what the Dursley's forced on her those five years she'd been with them before her father rescued her. This will be her legacy within Hogwarts, a generation of children fighting against a selfish, supremist bitch. These people around her, they might never speak a word of what they did, or maybe they will – maybe they'll shout it loud, for their world's ignorant to hear and understand

But Cass has seen the words the twins writ in stone, high in the most lonely and unvisited of classrooms and corridors; she's seen the ghosts whispering, whispering about _children fighting a war_ and having _never seen something like this before_ ; she's seen house-elves creep up to sleeping students, who's bandages have fallen off after they tiredly wrapped them, after sinking them in essence of murtlap, and seen them rewrap them with caring, tearful eyes. They're creating a history, but that history hasn't an ending yet.

She can't fight anymore.

 _We can't win if everyone's spirits break._

"Everyone," she stops them at a three-way intersection, where the Gryffindor's spilling through their ranks would split off to Gryffindor Tower, turning to face them, looking at Mandy as she speaks, "I know that not everyone here is as brave as they would like to be. I know that what we just went through tonight was torture – and don't call it anything else, because it's _torture_ – and that not everyone here is old enough, seen enough in life to make this through to the bitter end." She pauses, eyes flickering to others, away from Mandy, not settling on anyone for too long.

"You don't have to fight. You can support us, but you don't have to actively take part in demonstrations like this. If you do, that's your choice, and I'll invite you to stay on after our next lesson to talk some more." Cass doesn't say 'group' or 'session' or 'meeting', or anything that can be taken as independent – Umbridge's Decrees are taking Hogwarts over, paper by paper. The portraits listen in, and have no choice but to report everything suspicious that they see.

The word 'rebellion' is never said aloud, not even in the Room of Requirement.

"We're with you," someone painfully young calls out in the silence, and Cass briefly shuts her eyes, before shaking her head, then nodding, turning and walking to Ravenclaw Tower.

Children shouldn't be fighting in wars.

 _I definitely need a drink tonight._

* * *

"You look tense," an observant voice notes as Cass throws back a particularly acidic shot.

"No kidding," she wipes her mouth, turning, only to be surprised by the fact that the speaker was Natasha, "Hey."

She smiles slightly, only vaguely suggestive, "Hey." Natasha sips her drink, and Cass wonders if she's really a cosmo kind of girl, rather than a bourbon one – she'd had bourbon last time they met, and she had a cosmo now. Cass was always confused by the ones that didn't have a standard drink. "What can you tell me about your new doorman?"

Cass raises an eyebrow.

"I didn't take you for someone who liked the buff ones," Cass' eyes trail off her to the newest of their bunch. He's a big, buff, scruffy white man with a nasty silver scar down his neck. Cass knows he's a werewolf from the bitemark that peeks out of his shirt – she'd already cleared him the week before though, and paid him heavily every time he took time off for the full moon.

The witch looks back at Natasha, and wonders, briefly, in what context the red-head is asking for information, and decides she doesn't care and goes for the normal kind of gossip.

"Jake's a new citizen to the United Kingdoms," Cass begins, motioning to him with her glass, suavely leaning sideways on the bar, eyeing him up. He notices, and quirks an eyebrow. They both know he's gay, but it'd be hella amusing to see Natasha try to chat him up. "Former resident of the land down under. _Very_ nice accent, but misses the sun. Likes the lack of flooding, though."

"Australian?" Natasha glances over, raising an eyebrow, "Never would have guessed. Know anything about that scar on his face?"

"You like scars, babe?" Cass questions. Natasha shrugs, looking back at her, eyes on her wrapped wrist – the blood was seeping through, quite heavily. "Want to know a secret?"

Natasha looks up at her through her lashes, and Cass only lets a sliver of a grin through, because this second meeting, this second perspective, is giving her an entirely new opinion of Natasha's character.

 _She's an actress, alright, and manipulative – just like me,_ Cass thinks, before leaning forwards into Natasha's personal space, faces barely an inch apart. _She notices things. And she's scoping out Jake._

Like hell was a complete stranger getting the drop on one of hers.

"I'm the head of a rebellion against a government, that thinks it is okay to torture little boys and girls, and my Jake's trying to stay under that government's radar." Natasha's eyes sharpen as Cass glares, leaning back in her bar-seat, sipping the flute Sean hands her. "If you _touch_ Jake, or do anything to reveal him to the world, I'll have your _head_ , Natasha. I've done a lot worse in the past."

"I underestimated you," Natasha admits quietly, looking her up and down. Cass holds up her hand, index finger extended, pointed at her. Jake, and three others come up around them, circling dancers and other such patrons to reach them. "You know he's a murderer? He ripped people apart with his bare hands."

"They were bounty hunters looking for a finders-fee" Cass replies, smiling, leaning forwards again to whisper in her ear. "It was the night before full moon. They should have known better than to try kidnap him. But I doubt you or yours believe in _werewolves_."

It was then that Vick came up to them, "Darling Cassandra, do we have a problem?"

Cass looked over at him, giving a small pout, "Oh, Vick, I was just getting to the climax of my monologue." Vick chuckles.

"You are no villain, my lady, and heroes do not have monologues."

"If I'm not a villain, then I'm an anti-hero – I do all this fucking self-sacrificing shit for the greater good of no-one but myself." Cass glares at him, or rather, glares in general, but in his direction. Vick frowns lightly, before his gaze travels to her hand, a growl escaping him.

"What in the depths of the Underworld?" His arm jerks forwards, fingers gripping her wrist as his other hand comes up to gently remove the bandages, frown immediately becoming a confused scowl. "Or rather, _how?_ How and who, Cassandra?"

"That government you're fighting?" Natasha asks, causing Cass to clench her free hand around her glass as _I must not tell lies_ twinges beneath the abominable, lightning-like flashes of pain from _I must not revolt against Ministry officials,_ _I must not call my professors offensive words_ _and_ _I must not incite rebellion among my fellow classmates_ , all squeezed onto the back of her hand. "Looks more like a government interfering with a school."

"It is none of anyone's business here, and I would advise you to let go of me, Victor," Cass warns, voice low and dangerous, before she feels nausea rising as it always did now. She shuts her eyes, wincing. "Actually, you really should let go. I'm about to hurl, Vick." Victor, the germophobe that he was, let go immediately, giving her the chance to get off her seat and speed-walk towards the back room's bathroom, pushing her champagne into a random patron as she did so. She barely made it, and when she was done ejecting the contents of her stomach, Cass just felt _tired_.

"I can't do this tonight," and to her horror, her eyes began to tear up. Squeezing them shut, Cass focused very clearly on where she wanted to be, twisting on her heel and disapparating from the building, apparating into her bedroom in Grimmauld Place. Dropping into her bed, Cass buried her head in her pillow.

 _This has gone on long enough, I'm visiting Madam Pomfrey in the morning_. She didn't care if the matron saw her hand – Pomfrey knew well enough not to report this, despite her lack of patients regarding the matter. Creevey from Gryffindor was helping her gather a photographic portfolio to bring straight to the Wizengamot, Cass knew, and hopefully that would be enough, even if she had no legitimate sponsor.

But being sick every day for no reason was a little more urgent than an upcoming lawsuit, to be quite frank. _I could be dying_ , Cass thought morbidly, before slipping into sleep.

* * *

She didn't know how _wrong_ she was.


	5. Chapter 5

"You do know that's impossible," Cass says flatly. Madam Pomfrey eyes her disbelievingly. "Madam Pomfrey, I can't be-" She cuts herself off, unable to even say it, shaking her head. "It's preposterous."

"Would you like to be tested again, Miss Potter?" Madam Pomfrey asks tartly, waving her wand and summoning a sheet of parchment from her office, surveying it before shaking her own head. "This needs to be updated – I haven't dealt with any of this kind of nonsense for quite some time."

Cass glares, "It's wrong. I literally cannot be. I've never even- not with a man, at least."

Madam Pomfrey pauses then, raising her eyebrows. "Miss Potter, you take both ancient runes and arithmancy classes, and take part in the ancient celebrations. You cannot tell me you were unaware that on specific solstices and equinoxes, you can become pregnant regardless of partner."

The younger witch's mouth opens and shuts, repeatedly, without any sound coming out, hands gripping the bed beneath her hard enough that her knuckles go white.

Madam Pomfrey tuts, "Witches and wizards these days. I'll have to speak to Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster about introducing some informative sessions for young wix." Going to the end table, Madam Pomfrey summons a quill – most likely self-inking, Cass notes with half a mind, when no inkpot joins it – and takes a minute to correct what needs correcting, as Cass takes in the information that had just been handed to her.

"I would refer you to a private healer, but unfortunately very few people are allowed to know about your time-turner, which I suspect you use rather more than you should," the matron taps the parchment with her wand before folding it and handing it over. "I will get a hold of what potions you need. You're at the end of your first trimester, which is a good sign, though you still have a chance of miscarriage – yours will be higher, if your family history is what I remember."

"Miscarriage?" Cass' mind is still focused on the fact that she's _pregnant_ , so it doesn't quite process as Madam Pomfrey crouches down in front of her, wand resting gently on her stomach.

"I went to school with your grandmother, Dorea – she had your father quite late in life because of how long it took to conceive, and what aunts and uncles you might have had died either in the womb, or before their first birthdays." Madam Pomfrey meets her eyes, "I was her healer, just as I was your own mother's. I didn't deliver you, unfortunately, because you were born in a muggle hospital, but…" she trails off, tapping Cass' stomach again, causing it to glow a soft yellow. "Your baby seems healthy so far. You were much the same, despite what stress Lily was under because of the war. Lily was- Lily easily became pregnant. She chose to keep you, unlike others."

"Oh," is Cass' only reaction, before she swallows and looks around, trying to see if there was any portrait, any canvas that could get the news out to Umbridge. Because this is leverage now, leverage against her, against everyone she cares about, leverage, leverage, leverage. Not to mention she'd teased Natasha about the existence of magic. _Holy Hades,_ she internally panics, _if she ever finds out_ – because it had to be Natasha. No way was it anyone else she's had before or since. _Seven sets, Yule…_

"I want you to come here next week, on Monday afternoon. I'll have gathered anything you might need by then. Potions, leaflets, helpful spell-books, a planner – and a wristband, you'll need one of them."

Cass' thoughts are put on hold at that, "Wristband?" Why does she need a wristband?

"It's to help patients take their potions, usually, when they might have problems or habits that prevent them from remembering. It's an alarm. With your constant time-travelling, you will definitely need it, Miss Potter-"

"Call me Cassandra," Cass interrupts her, before covering her face with her hands, her mind now racing. "I need a way to hide this, Madam Pomfrey."

"Poppy. Call me Poppy – and I'm aware. That's why I said to wait for Monday. It takes time to get a hold of a Bagnold Belt," Poppy takes Cass' hands from her face, holding them. "You want to keep it, then?"

"Yes." Cass doesn't know why she does. She's busy this year, so, so busy – she's fighting Umbridge, she's doing her OWL's, she's co-running V's, she's trying to figure out a way to get Voldemort off the chessboard, she's fending off a hoard of mail from fans and the press and would-be assassins _every day_. She's doing so much shit, and while Cass has everything afloat – this, having a _baby_ , it's terrifying and so, so big.

But maybe what Poppy said, about her grandmother – maybe that worries her too, now she thinks about it.

"Yes," she says again, "I want to keep her."

Poppy squeezes her hands and with that Cass breathes in, straightens her shoulders, and stands.

She's got an Umbitch to bring down. And _quickly._

* * *

 _"_ _This connection of ours, Cassandra…" Voldemort is looking in a mirror, looking back into his own eyes in some perverse way to speak with her even as she studies everything his peripheral and through said mirror, trying to mind anything to help her tie him down to one location, or to get some kind of clue as to what he's doing. "It is strange."_

 _"_ _Strange is an odd word for it," she speaks as she focuses on the books at his bedside table – or what she assumes is his. She can't help the feeling of slight triumph as she realises they're books on seers, and analysing prophecies – she's seen one of them in Ravenclaw Tower library._

 _"_ _What makes you feel like this, Cassandra?"_

 _"_ _That's my business, though I have to wonder, what have you been doing recently, other than gathering your dark forces around Europe?"_

 _Voldemort chuckles. "As you said, 'that's my business'. How is school?"_

 _"_ _Tiring. You're_ sure _Umbridge isn't one of yours?" Cass asks, sighing, hand aching. Voldemort glances down, and she realises with a wince that she's accidentally let him feel. "Blood quill. She uses it a lot."_

 _"_ _A blood quill, you say? How…unpreceded. She tortures you with this? Surely, she knows you are mine to torture, and kill, eventually? She should not be harming you…"_

 _"_ _She's a Ministry plant – Fudge's Bellatrix, except she's got all the plans, and less insanity."_

 _"_ _Just as much wanting for blood, though," Voldemort murmurs, and they're both quiet for a time, before he speaks again. "Blood quills were used, once, as punishment, but only for a short time before they were banned. This was back in the seventeen hundreds. To my knowledge, there have been no over-turnings of the law that bans them from being used in anything other than official signings of contracts and other such legal documents."_

 _"_ _I know. But we need an airtight case that Fudge can't simply close permanently. We'll be bringing it to the Wizengamot before the end of term, hopefully."_

 _Voldemort hissed in anger, emotions flooding their connection. "You are mine! Only I will harm you! Only I!"_

 _"_ _I'm not a possession, Tom," Cass mentally bares her teeth, own anger rising at his possessiveness. "If you want to deal with her, do it! I want her gone more than you do."_

 _"_ _I'll get rid of her, don't worry about that, dear Cassandra," Voldemort glared right back at her through the mirror, red eyes bright with hate, "And I'll bring down the Ministry of Magic while I do it."_

Cass snaps upright in bed, breath heaving, the connection breaking. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit, _shit._ " She throws off her covers, getting out of bed rapidly, wand in a death-grip as she runs out of the dormitory, practically _flying-_

She stops still, frozen as her hand reaches for the spelled doorhandle, that once opened would alert Umbridge and Filch that a student was out of bed.

 _Flying._

Cass looks to the window.

"They never look up."

* * *

…Dumbledore is quite surprised to find her knocking on his office window in the middle of the night, soaking wet in only her pyjamas on a broomstick, obviously.

"Miss Potter," he opens the window, letting her in, "What required so much urgency or foolishness that you had to fly to me?"

Cass unseats from her broom, dropping to the stone ground, and meets his eyes with a glare. "I might hate you, despise you even for leaving me with those monstrous people, and for trying to take me from Sirius all these years, and enforcing your twisted logic on good people, and submitting me to all this media circus _shit_ because you didn't tell anyone that it was my mother who defeated Voldemort, and you couldn't have the decency to keep the fact that I lived through that attack to yourself, for which you would have had _many_ excuses, my safety included…" Cass grips her broom and her wand tightly, hating herself for going to this man, this grand chest-master.

 _It has to be done._

"But you're one of Voldemort's main opponents in this fucking war, and he just declared that he's going to bring down the Ministry. Now's your chance to redeem yourself, and get something the fuck done."

Dumbledore, face grave and eyes grim, doesn't nod, or acknowledge her in any way, turning to Fawkes and ordering him to summon the Order before finally speaking to her.

"Thank-you for telling me this, Lady Potter."

Cass nods sharply, before mounting her broom once more and riding out into the storm, uneasy heart hoping with all her might that Dumbledore would pull through.

 _Hope. Hope is all I can do._


	6. Chapter 6

They're all summoned to the Great Hall. When they get there, the tables are gone, and an unfamiliar man with a scruffy, salt-and-pepper hair with a beard to match stands on the raised platform. The teachers are, for once, not standing up there, instead scattered around the Hall, at walls and among students. No-one knows what is going on.

The platoon of injured Aurors behind the unfamiliar wizard does not do anything to settle their nerves.

"Line up in House and year order, first years on the left, seventh years on the right!" the man barks, and it takes a couple of minutes before everyone is in line and quieted down, as teachers and other staff members corral them. "Students of Hogwarts, I am Rufus Scrimgeour, former Head of the Auror Office – now wartime interim Minister for Magic." There's an instant clamour, which is silenced – quite literally. Scrimgeour looks down balefully at them.

"At this moment in time, the Wizarding World of Britain is at war with the Dark Lord otherwise known as You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Now before anyone goes shouting out the alias of his choice, I must forbid you from doing so, as the Taboo has been recast. This means," he pinpoints Cass in the crowd of fifth years, keeping her gaze, "that whenever you call him by his chosen name, you automatically lower all wards you are within, and summon the Death Eaters to your location."

"Why are you here in Hogwarts?" Someone interrupts him – a sixth year Ravenclaw. Scrimgeour sniffs, shoulders straightening even further.

"Last night, the You-Know-Who attacked the Ministry of Magic, and slew Minister Fudge and his Administration in front of the Fountain of Magical Brethren – including, I apologise, your Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Madam Dolores Umbridge." There are gasps, but then there are cheers, and the students whoop and hug each other and sob in joy, breaking the silencing charm.

Cass hugs Morag tightly and smiles, even though now, they're truly at war.

* * *

A day later, refugees start pouring into Hogwarts. Minister Scrimgeour had explained how Hogwarts was now the major stronghold of Britain – that Diagon Alley had been raided, killing most of its occupants, and that Gringotts had closed it's doors after a goblin was injured by a stray curse. Dumbledore had rounded up the Order of the Phoenix, but then they were getting emergency calls from all around the country, and before too long, Dumbledore only had his most trusted and skilled by his side.

Dumbledore, Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Hestia Jones, Emmeline Vance and Arthur Weasley all went to the Ministry and died fighting.

Scrimgeour and his allies around the Ministry, the majority Aurors, had escaped, and while most were injured, thankfully only very few of those who didn't go down during the original assault died otherwise as they made their way to Hogwarts. They control the castle, and are adamant on keeping the students on a normal schedule – however, they don't like students wandering, and require everyone to sign in and out of whatever class they're in, whatever bathroom, whatever corner of the library, whatever common room. They even have them sign in and out of the Great Hall.

So, frankly, Cass expects them to catch onto the fact that she's still holding Defence lessons in the Room of Requirement sooner.

"Where do you all go?" Scrimgeour stalks down the line of them, closer to them than in their original meeting. Cass is the only one technically not supposed to be there, and she slouches against the wall just in front of the line, watching them curiously, wondering if they'll tell – if they'll give in to his interrogation. "Two thirds of Hogwarts students who aren't in their dorms or common rooms when they've signed in there, missing for three hours…at the very least."

 _That_ is when Cass decides to pay closer attention to what Scrimgeour and his compatriots do when they're guarding them. _They timed us. They knew._ Which meant any of them could have been followed, tagged, already compromised or even already have told Scrimgeour about what they do, what they did. Cass knows that Scrimgeour is still unaware of why they cheered at Umbridge's death – just as he is still unaware as to the fact that they all wear skin-coloured wraps on their hands to hide their scars, a product of Fred and George's genius.

"Where do you go? What do you do? Are you planning a coup? Are you all simply innocents visiting your friends? Who organises you? Who came up with this idea?"

Cass sees many eyes flicker to her, and she's not so stupid as to think Scrimgeour didn't notice.

"Lady Potter," Scrimgeour glances over at her, "I'm aware that you possess a time turner, so don't think I'm not aware that you're well over the age of majority. Veritaserum is only illegal to use on minors, and I have a private stash."

Cass raises her chin. "You still can't use it on me. Just ask Madam Pomfrey. Not that I have anything to say. How many people actually know I have a time turner?"

"Too many. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will know by now."

"He always knew," Cass countered, shrugging, "I share a connection with him. It confused him whenever two of me appeared in a dream until I decided to give up that information."

Scrimgeour grits his teeth, stalking towards her, pointing at her students. "Why did you organise them like this?"

"I'm not going to give you that information for free, Minister, no matter who you are," Cass glares, standing up straight. "And seeing as you have nothing I could want-"

"Sirius Black's pardon."

Time freezes.

Scrimgeour's eyes are dark as he speaks to her, "It's not unknown to me that you have asked Amelia Bones for a pardon. Why you would escapes me, but what you did to cover up your question wasn't thorough enough. I'll pardon Sirius Black of all crimes, provided he comes here to Hogwarts, without a wand, and submits himself to questioning. In return for this, you'll tell me exactly what I want to know about your little group here."

For once, Cass doesn't know what to do. When Sirius had rescued her from the Dursley's, he hadn't done it legally – he'd taken her, raised her as his own in France, under pseudonyms and lies and blackened money. They had both been hunted for so, so long. Six years on the run, for Cass, before she went to Hogwarts. Sirius was still running – he'd never stopped. _A pardon._ He could finally live without fear-

 _No._

Cass' eyes flickered to the Aurors who stalked circles around her students, her Ravenclaw's, her Gryffindor's, her Hufflepuff's, her Slytherin's.

 _No. He won't live without fear._ Even if he was pardoned and interrogated, people would still view him as a murderer, as a traitor. He'd fear a constant anger from those who might want to harm him, for what Peter had done, and he'd fear Voldemort and all his Death Eaters, because they were at war. _We're at war. There's no way to live through war without fear._

"He was never charged with any crime, nor did he commit any," Cass finally replies, looking back at Scrimgeour, "Crouch threw him in Azkaban under martial law, without a trial, without a conviction. It may have been legal at the time, but all cases were reviewed after the end of the war, except his. He escaped Azkaban by transforming into his animagus form, something he didn't register because, at the time, it was the height of the war and he was part of the Order of the Phoenix. It was an advantage he didn't want to give up. He doesn't need a pardon. All he needs is for people to know the truth – that Peter Pettigrew was the Death Eater, not him, and he's still alive today. So no, you still don't have anything I want."

Scrimgeour keeps his eyes locked on hers, before he hums lowly, muttering, "There are _very_ few reasons why someone cannot take veritaserum, Lady Potter, and most are life-threatening. It doesn't mix well with healing potions, and suchlike. It alters the body and the magic within. If you are ill, Lady Potter, you're going to need help to possess the correct potions."

Cass wants to laugh, at how he thinks she's ill. _I'm pregnant, not an invalid._

"Bribery doesn't work on me, Minister, so stop trying," and Cass pushes passed him, looking at her rebellion. "Everyone, get back to your common rooms. We're done here."

They leave.

Because they are _hers_.

And it's only then that Scrimgeour seems to realise that.


	7. Chapter 7

Dying is easy. Coming back from death is harder to do – though, when you have unorthodox soul pieces at your disposal to take your place in the afterlife, it's a little easier. When Cass wakes up in the train station, she is quick to take her parents' advice and return, hands unable to be stopped as they reach to her stomach.

"How are you alive?" Bellatrix screams, "My lord, my lord! She lives, she lives-"

"Do shut up, Bella," Voldemort groans, getting to his feet, shaking visibly. Cass keeps a hand on her stomach as she sits up, Voldemort eyeing her carefully. He knows – of course he knows, even in her dreams, she's round-stomached. "You really won't die, will you? Your will to live is stronger than I ever thought."

Cass bares her teeth, bloody from her broken nose that's dripped, sliding down over her lips. She grips her wand with equally-as-shaky hands, the people around her whispering and the battle has stopped. She can see Fenrir Greyback standing beside Dennis Creevey – _no! What is he doing here?_ – and Ivar Mikalsson breathing heavily as he physically leans on Theodore Nott Senior, keeping him down.

"No, you were just stupid as ever, slicing your soul smaller and smaller until it became so unstable that a backfired curse lopped off another half and put it inside me. That's what my scar is, you psycho – and _you_ just killed it."

Voldemort stares at her for a long few seconds, before his expression finally twists into one of horrible, angry understanding. His arm raises once more, _avada kedavra_ on his lips as his wand flicks, Cass already with an entrails-expelling curse halfway out of her mouth.

 _Priori incantatum_ , again happens but this time Cass has to think of her baby because not one, but two spells would hit her if she lost here – and she has no reason to inform the wizarding world she was pregnant during the majority of her campaign against Voldemort and Umbridge, through her expelled organs. Golden light swirls and Fawkes sings a song as Morag approaches Voldemort form behind and stabs him in the throat.

Voldemort's spell fails, the red-green globe of light spinning directly at his falling body – missing and hitting Morag instead. Cass hears a scream and realises it's her own as Morag falls to the floor, stomach already bursting open, innards flying. Her eyes are glassy as she hits the floor, Voldemort gurgling away beside her, his blood causing Cass to slip and slide as she comes to Morag's side, hands cradling her face.

"No, no, no, no…"

Morag's eyes are glassy and Cass sobs.

" _No._ "

* * *

Morag McDougal had been a quiet but confident blonde eleven year old with a Norwegian accent in first year. Cass – or Andrea, as she had been known back then, for the Dursley's had an absolutely _horrid_ dislike of her real name – had been just as small Girl-Saviour whose speciality was sassing her cousin so well he didn't know he was being sassed. They met on the train, and since first year, were all but inseparable. Over time, both girls had spiralled upwards, character flowing from their pores. Andrea had become Cass, with sharp eyes that saw through every wall – a silver-tongued snake with wings to help her fly and feathers to hide her true nature.

Morag had grown taller, louder. She braided her long blonde hair from the scalp, tying in bright strings of colour to the waving strands, _pride_ shown to all; she twisted silver dinner-knives in her fingers as she leant forwards on her elbows, eyes glittering as Cass told her latest tale; she stood beside her sister in all but blood when her opponents faced her down, and rallied the masses to her defence when everyone seemed to decide to go against her.

If Cass had ever tolerated people calling her friends her 'inner circle', then she would have agreed with anyone who ever said that Morag was her partner in crime, her right hand, or even her soulmate. Because Morag was the light to her dark, the port to her drifting boat. She kept her grounded, and – other than her father, or Remus, or Tonks – was the only one able to calm her down when she grew angry.

So Cass wouldn't know what to do if Morag left.

* * *

The baby cries all the time. Cass doesn't quite know, usually, if she should feed her, change her, burp her or rock her to sleep. Most of the time, she goes through all those things in the wrong order, getting it right by doing everything wrong first. In their little apartment in their big building, Cass and baby Lily make a lot of noise and then too much noise. Another apartment, another building – then, a house.

"Pup, I know you want to do this alone, but seriously, if I get another bill for a deposit, I'm going to go insane – and I'm rich as fuck," Sirius says through the mirror. Cass pats Lily's back until she's sick, pacing as Sirius sighs.

The house is bright and airy. Sirius, Tonks and Remus visit, painting Lily's blue room so the ceiling is the night sky and the walls have clouds that move, tiny paintings of chasers, keepers, beaters and seekers zooming around, throwing, hitting and catching. Cass sort of likes it and wonders if her room was like this when she was a baby.

"Mummy misses her mummy," she mutters to Lily, who grips her blanket tighter than Cass thought babies could. "Mummy misses her daddy, too. I wonder if you miss your other mummy – it must be strange to only have one parent."

Cass wishes Morag was with her. She wishes that she had more time with her. She wishes there weren't statues of her, entwined with Cass' own golden counterpart, all over the Wizarding World – in Diagon Alley, in Hogwarts, in Hogsmeade, in the Ministry, even in Godrics Hollow. Cass hates Morag's statue – hates how it doesn't capture her smile, her bright eyes or even those gods-damned rainbow ribbons in her braids.

"Should I find your other mummy?" Cass asks Lily, reaching over the bars of her cot to stroke her hand. "Do you think she'd believe me? I've already sort of broken the Statue of Secrecy when it comes to her and- well, I've seen her on television. She's fought aliens and helped bring down Hydra-SHIELD. They call her the Black Widow. It's hard to believe what she does is real. I've not looked her up, despite how people are leaking things all over the internet. I got you a present you might like though for your birthday, tomorrow," Cass thinks of the plastic figurine of the infamous _Black Widow_ with its tiny waist and flowing red locks. "I think it's strange that they think she'd wear her hair out on missions."

Twenty-one and a half years old, Cassandra Andromeda Black lives in Harlem, New York, in a street that's only just finished being renovated after the Hulk's temper tantrum in o' eight. From her attic window she can see Avengers Tower in the distance and that's only one of the reasons she allows the raccoon-eyed man to live in it – another, different reason being how he protects her baby little stargazer Lily with a vitriol that reminds Cass of herself.

"You should tell her," Jamie says from his place in the rocking chair, crocheting the last of Lily's birthday blanket. "Natalia doesn't take well to liars prying into her personal life."

"She pried first," Cass says, thinking back to when Natasha tried to investigate Jake. _She probably thought he was a metahuman. Those seem to pop up a lot in the US._

"Doesn't matter."

"Fuck off," Cass glances over at the crochet blanket. "How's your little habit helping your violent tendencies?"

"I made you a onesie."

"No _way_ did you make me a crochet onesie," Cass' eyes widen. "You didn't."

"I did. Happy Christmas," Jamie reaches into his sports bag of wool and knitting needles, pulling out a grocery-bag of knitwear. Cass reaches over, taking it quickly, pulling the multi-coloured onesie out and eyeing its magnificence.

"I don't celebrate Christmas, but thank-you, thank-you very much." Cass leans over, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "You're a good man."

"You're welcome."

The next day, Jamie takes them out for ice-cream, Lily on his hip. Cass – wand in her holster, a pair of enchanted knives hidden in her thigh-high boots – toys with the idea of buying a set of sunglasses when she sees her, familiar auburn hair nearly fully hidden by her hood. Cass buys the sunglasses, putting them on and immediately punching a passerby in the arm as they slap her behind under her denim dress-skirt

"Don't touch me," she snarls, the man stopping to glare at her murderously, leaning over her in some intimidating way. Cass isn't afraid – _how could I be afraid of anything, after the life I've lived?_ – and stands up straight, poking him with her index finger. "Would you treat your mother like that?"

The man looks over her shoulder to Jamie, "You let her treat me like this?"

"I'm glad she does, punk," Jamie says, voice low and guarded as he holds Lily's ice-cream for her, hair pulled up and back into a bun, sunglasses hiding his no-doubt freezing eyes. Cass wonders how the stranger would react if he could see Jamie's mechanical arm. "You treat a lady like that, you deserve everything you get."

"Enough here, move along," Natasha finally makes her way over, flipping off her hood. Cameras on phones immediately start to flash, the stranger flushing, sending one last glare at Cass before leaving, the small crowd that had formed shuffling along at Natasha's look. No-one talks until they've all finally moved on. "Long time, no see."

"Ditto, Nat," Cass comes close, pressing her lips to her cheek, hand coming up to gently wipe away the stain that it leaves behind. "I didn't expect to see you again."

"I didn't expect to see you in New York, or with James, here."

Cass glances at Jamie, who – thankfully – hasn't moved and is instead keeping all his attention focused on Lily, feeding her ice-cream. Cass briefly feels pity for him, not realising that Lily and Natasha looked so alike until now, their auburn hair identical shades and their noses and brows one and the same.

"He's a friend. I've been keeping an eye on him – he's under my protection."

"Just like how Jake was?"

"The same, except Jamie is a personal project," Cass says, "I won, but with terrible costs. We keep each other grounded."

"More than a child does?"

"Sometimes I can't function," _which is why I had a house-elf before Jamie snapped his neck in fright._ "Jamie helps out." Cass fiddles with her sunglasses before pushing them back up onto her head, keeping her dark hair out of the way as she tucks her thumbs behind the buckle of her belt, stepping out of Natasha's personal space finally. "How are you? I saw all the crazy shit on TV. It must be rough, being a super-spy whose face everyone knows."

Natasha nods sharply, glancing at Lily. "What's her name?"

"Lily, after my mother. You should come over some time to my place, on your own," Cass invites, glancing at Jamie again. "We've got some things to talk about, anyway."

"You and I? What about?" Natasha questions.

"Stuff you wouldn't believe. I know you've fought aliens and all that, but apparently you don't like liars prying into your personal business. I'd rather get explanations over with so you can decide if you want anything to do with us or not."

Natasha stares at her for a long moment, eyes flickering to Lily. _She's not idiotic._

"Werewolves, do they really exist?"

"In the Wizarding World, they do," Jamie answers, before finishing off Lily's ice-cream and summarily handing the one-year old to her other mother. Frozen suddenly, Cass watches him disappear into the crowd, before sharply looking back to Natasha.

Lily, for her part, isn't screaming and crying at the handover to a stranger.

"Uh…sorry about him," Cass regains her voice, hands reaching for Lily. "I can take her back-"

"No, it's fine. I have godchildren, I know how to hold babies," Natasha puts Lily on her hip, gently bouncing her. Lily grins, sticky hands coming to grasp her face. A smile lights up her face and Cass stares at them both, before looking around, anywhere but them. Across the street, a man reading a newspaper looks strangely at them, lips moving and Cass narrows her eyes.

"Have you got friends around here?"

"We were following Barnes."

"How many friends?" Cass looks around, finding another man – white, blonde-haired – just down the road, leaning against a lamp-post. "I don't like this."

"The only reason they aren't following is because you're interesting. Did you get some kind of synth-skin for his arm?"

"Magic can hide anything and magical prosthetics don't usually tend to be on the inconspicuous side." Cass clenches her fists, wanting Lily back in her arms, where she was _safe_. "Why are you searching for him?"

"He's a danger to the public and he's Steve's friend – he's all alone in the twenty-first century with nothing but pictures and demented elderly persons tying him down."

"Jamie is unravelling," Cass mutters, coming close again, taking Lily from her finally, their arms brushing. "I don't want him to get hurt, milady."

"Mama," Lily squidges Cass' nose, causing her to smile a little. "Mama, mama, mama, mama."

"How old is she?"

"It's her first birthday," Natasha's frown doesn't leave her face as Cass slips into a shop, twisting through the aisles and disapparating on a corner.


End file.
